This is my collection of unfinished, unpolished drabbles and ideas. Think of them what you will, but it is unlikely that any will be turned into 'proper' stories.

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all related materials are the property of J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury and Warner Brothers. I am in no way affiliated with JKR, Bloomsbury or Warner Brothers, and use their materials without their permission or knowledge

Harry the Humongous.

Harry slumped down on the pathetic bed he called his own. The memory of Sirius's recent passing weighed heavily on the young boy, and the warning given to his 'family' by the Order had just made his home life even more miserable.

Besides getting fifteen minutes each day to use the bathroom, Harry was confined to the tiny bedroom and its rickety furniture.

Not that he cared. His misery left him completely unconcerned at the unjust and almost inhumane captivity.

The lack of food was more of a worry. The thin broth and small pieces of fruit pushed through the cat-flap of his door were not enough even for his scrawny body, and the supplies he had from his trunk were almost exhausted after a single day.

"If something doesn't change soon, I am going to have to do something about this," mumbled Harry to himself.

Unbidden memories of the sumptuous, elf-provided meals made Harry groan in desire. At this point, he was almost willing to risk expulsion by conjuring a simple sandwich, just as he had seen Professor McGonagall do in his second year, after they had crashed Mr. Weasley's car into the Whomping Willow. Or better yet, he wanted to make a thick stream of Mrs Weasley's delicious gravy flow from his wand, just like she did.

Harry's stomach rumbled loudly, distracting him from his unseemly thoughts.

An unfamiliar owl suddenly flew through the window and landed on top of the lopsided wardrobe, a formal looking letter attached to its leg.

"Fan-bloody-tastic. I just think about performing magic and I get a warning?" Harry thought. "The dickhead Ministry must be really edgy."

The letter however, proved to be quite a surprise, once he got past the meaningless rambling and into the important bit.

Due to the series of unfortunate misunderstandings over the last year, the Minister has agreed to exempt you from the underage magic laws.

It went on a fair bit after that, but Harry barley read any more; his mind locked onto that single, pertinent sentence.

exempt you from the underage magic laws.

He could do magic, now, for any reason.

At that precises moment, a plate holding a single unbuttered slice of stale bread was pushed through the cat flap.

Harry smiled his very first smile since returning to Privet Drive, and took out his wand.

"I don't think so," he said.

With a dramatic wave of his wand and a spoken incantation, the bread was replaced - with a small white rabbit - which was a bit of a shock since he was trying for something a bit more cooked.

Hedwig squealed in delight as she swooped down to snatch the bunny away before Harry had a chance to protest.

"Come back with my dinner, you thief!" he yelled out the window at the quickly retreating form of his owl and its shrieking victim.

Finally accepting he was not going to be seeing either his meal or his familiar for some time, he turned back to the now empty plate.

"Well, so much for transfiguration," he said. "Now let's try conjuring."

His overly ambitious shot at producing a whole roast went rather well, in retrospect. At least it was dead, and definitely cooked, whatever it was. Unfortunately, the oddly shaped charcoal lump was totally inedible, as were the next few attempts to make dinner.

When one of his conjured meals appeared with flames still bursting from it, Harry decided to try for something a little easier.

The next go produced a rather sickly looking puddle of goo that could, if one had a very good imagination and a very dark room, be mistaken for pudding. At least it did, before it slithered away under the wardrobe leaving a sticky brown trail behind it.

Harry quickly pulled his legs up onto the bed and decided to come back to pudding later on.

The following five attempts were slightly better, with one actually holding its shape long enough to be identifiable as jelly, but then it exploded, showering the room in green slime.

"Not bad," said Harry, licking some of the gooey mess from his wand.

Realisation of exactly what he was doing struck, overriding his hunger, and he quickly wiped his wand off on the dirty blanket of his bed and then went back to work.

Several attempts later, Harry was contently eating something that approximated a bowl of thick soup, exact identity and composition unknown. It wasn't very good, but he knew he would get better – it was just going to take practice – lots of practice.

Another smile split his face as he enjoyed the simple pleasure of eating.

For the first time since he had seen his godfather fall through the veil, Harry was not thinking about his loss.


Petunia Dursley long ago allowed the true nature of her son to become buried deep inside her mind, where the light of reason didn't shine. Along with other annoying facts, like Vernon being an unmitigated pig and the neighbours hating her guts, she kept Dudley's bullying ways and enormous girth wrapped in a blanket of self-denial big enough to suffocate a baby whale.

Subconsciously however, she made allowances.

Meal sizes for her son and husband were a whole order of magnitude above anything the Board of Health recommended, and constant repairs to badly crushed furniture were quickly excused away as clear signs of the deteriorating quality in manufacturing nowadays.

So she didn't need to turn around to know it was her massive offspring causing the house to rattle its foundations as he tromped down the stairs.

"Good morning, sweetie," she said, shovelling another kilo of bacon onto Dudley's plate. "Breakfast is running a bit late, sorry. That lazy freak hasn't shown his face again today, so I've had to make it."

"Er, Aunt Petunia?" rumbled a voice behind her.

The shock of hearing Harry's voice, when she was certain it was Dudley standing there, nearly made Petunia shriek, but she quickly gained control and whirled to lambast Harry for his tardiness.

The words died on her lips at the sight that greeted her.

Harry was at least as fat as Dudley, and almost seemed to be growing bigger as he gnawed on the cooked leg of some creature considerably larger than a chicken.

"I just came down to tell you not to bother pushing anything through the flap anymore," mumbled Harry through a mouthful. "I've got my own food, so you don't need to trouble yourself."

Petunia, mouth agape, simple nodded.

Harry turned and lumbered out of the kitchen. Moments later Petunia heard the protesting creak of the stairs as Harry began his ascent.

"Vernon," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. "Vernon!"

The Dursleys left on an unexpected holiday that night, and didn't bother leaving a note.

In his room, Harry puffed and panted for an hour after his journey downstairs. It was hard going, but it did give him an appetite. With a wave of his wand, he conjured a whole roast boar, complete with glazed apple in its mouth, and sat down on his bed to dig in with gusto.


The cabal of Death Eaters appeared on the front lawn of privet drive, splintering the morning air with the noise of their apparition. Six wands were drawn at the same time. Six wands cast the same spell at the house at the same time.

A glowing yellow dome appeared to surround the property as the spells neared the building, absorbing the attack with bright flashes.

Surprisingly, no curious heads poked out of neighbouring doors, no curtains twitched, no betraying prying eyes sneaking covert glances – it was as if the whole spectacle was invisible and inaudible to the other residents of the erstwhile quiet street.

For five minutes the ward held against the bombardment, but suddenly the yellow dome flickered and disappeared in a silent implosion.

A louder thundering crack heralded the arrival of another half a dozen black robed figures, and one unmasked, red-eyed escapee from nightmares best forgotten.

"Where is Potter?" demanded Lord Voldemort.

One of the original Death Eaters stepped forward.

"My lord, he has not shown himself. There has been no movement inside or outside of the house since we arrived."

"What? Potter has not come charging out to defend his home? I know his Muggle family left mere days after the boy returned, else we could not have broken the wards so easily, but I find it hard to imagine our hero let you attack his house with impertinence," said the Dark Lord thoughtfully. "I fully expected to find several of you dead by the time I arrived."

The Death Eater gulped, but wisely did not say anything.

Voldemort waved his hand to indicate several of his followers. "Well, what are you waiting for? Go in and get him. Bring him to me."

As five of the masked figures raced away, Voldemort conjured a high back, throne-like chair and seated himself on the front lawn of the Dursley's house to await Harry Potter.

"Rather a depressing sight, is it not, Lucius?"

"Yes, my Lord," simpered the silver haired follower. "Very, sterile."

"Yes," agreed Voldemort. "Needs more colour, don't you think?"

"Indeed, My Lord," said Lucius enthusiastically. "A more varied mixture of flowers in the beds would improve the overall feel of the garden and emphasise the lawn –"

Voldemort nodded in half-hearted agreement as he summoned a large iced tea and took a sip.


"Ready?" asked Reginald Billings, the senior Death Eater in charge of the five man squad assigned to be the first to assault Potter's inner stronghold. He kept his voice quiet, hoping not to alert the boy behind the closed door they were about to crash through, despite the area already having been surrounded by silencing charms.

"Hang on," whispered one of the new guys, Smith, or Smyth, or some stupid Muggle name.

He was always interrupting, suggesting new things or asking stupid questions about why they had to stick to tradition and things. Billings loathed him and was planning on using him as a human shield against the Potter boy.

"What?" he asked angrily.

"Did you check for traps?"

There he goes again.


"You know, traps. Potter might have booby trapped the door, or the stairs, now I come to think about it."

Billings growled as a couple of the squad shifted nervously from foot to foot and began looking around, as if expecting the walls to suddenly attack them.

"There's been nothing so far, what makes you think there are going to be traps here?" he asked in as menacing a voice as he could.

Despite the immobile skull faced mask covering him, Billings could tell Smith knew he was sneering at him. He knew intimidating glances weren't as effective when the intended target couldn't see your face, but he was certain they could still feel it.

"Er, because there haven't been any traps so far?" said Smith, apparently too stupid to be browbeaten. "Seems a bit suspicious, doesn't it?"

A few others in the squad made affirming noises and turned to face Billings.

Damn, he thought. He's right.

"Well done," he said. "I wondered if any of your would catch that one. Right, now let's see how good your detection charms are."

"Oookayyy," said Smith, apparently forgetting the masks still let people see you roll your eyes.

Billings considered pushing off the staircase, but decided to wait for an opportunity in the coming battle to extract revenge.

"We've got some strengthening spells on the door, floor between us and the door down there, and on the staircase," said Smith, after casting some overly complex, show off charms. "All passive spells, but multiple casts reinforcing each other. Looks like the floor is a bit dodgy and it's been magically fixed up."

Billings grunted, half in relief and half in satisfaction at smart-arse-Smith not finding anything dangerous. Teach him to second-guess his betters.

"Are we all ready now?" he asked pointedly, throwing a look at Smith. "Right. One, two, three, go!"

Billings cast the Alohorama spell and slammed his shoulder into the door forcing it to spring open.

Or at least, he tried to.

The door opened about an inch, then struck something. Billings crashed into it and rebounded, right into his squad who were rushing forwards. Crushed between the door and his own people, the Death Eater lost his breath and his wand before falling to the ground on top of two of his teammates, neither of whom was Smith, unfortunately.

"He's blocked the door," yelled Smith. "Reducto!"

The spell stuck the door a tad too close to Billings's head to be entirely accidental, and caused a shower of wood splinters to fall over the men tangled on the floor. Billings, suddenly aware of how vulnerable he currently was, and feeling the heat of the spell as it passed by, lurched off the pile of minions and rolled to the side of the door, wand raised and ready for the counter attack from Potter.

It never came.


"What is taking so long?" Voldemort asked impatiently. "I am not hearing any screams or fighting. Lucius, take Bellatrix and go see what is happening."

Lucius immediately began striding very quickly towards the house, attempting to appear calm and noble while still making his best time. Bellatrix, his insane sister-in-law, skipped along behind him happily singing a lullaby involving dead rabbits and flesh eating worms.

"Wormtail," called the Dark Lord. "Grab the next Muggle that walks by, I need a footstool."

"Yes, my lord," said Peter.


"What is going on, and what is that unholy stench?" asked Lucius.

"Somebody's got a stinky bum bum," cackled Bella in her baby-talk voice.

"It's Potter," gasped one of the few Death Eaters still on his feet. "Gas attack of some kind."

"Gas? It smells like arse," said Lucius, fighting back a gag.

"And Lucy's nose knows them all," laughed Bella.

"Why haven't your squad cast bubblehead charms and proceeded?" asked Lucius, raising a perfumed hanky to his nose.

"Doesn't keep it out," gasped the Death Eater, swaying dizzily on his feet as he raised his wand. "Need to light a match."

"No, stop!" yelled Lucius, but he was too late.


Outside, Voldemort felt the muffled concussion vibrate through the ground.

"Now that's more like it," he said happily.


Inside the house, the surviving Death Eaters were picking themselves up of the floor, and in one instance, out of a cupboard.

"Little boys shouldn't play with matches!" said Bellatrix.

"I agree," said Lucius. "Nobody uses anymore flame based spells, not until we figure out how to counter the spell he is using to flood the house with methane."

"It's not a spell," said the minion.


"I said it's not a spell."

"Then what-"

A loud tearing noise rumbled through the house, shaking it to its very foundations. A wave of the putrid smell followed close behind.

"Never mind," chirped Bella brightly as Lucius heaved his breakfast up.


"My Lord, there is a, erm, rather large problem," said Lucius, trying to ignore the stares and guffaws of the other Death Eaters who were not so discreetly snickering at his tattered and burnt robes.

Voldemort smiled cruelly. "Putting up a good fight is he? Barricaded himself inside his room with clever and impenetrable barriers I suppose?"

The excitement in his voice was tangible.

Lucius shifted uncomfortably. "Ah, not exactly my lord. Potter has offered no resistance at all."

The Dark Lord frowned.

"Then what, pray tell, is the delay?" he asked, taking another sip of the cold tea.

"Er, the boy has, er, grown, My Lord. We are having difficulty getting him out of the door."

Voldemort sprayed his mouthful of drink over Lucius, who dared not flinch for fear of being punished.

"He's too fat?"

"Beyond morbidly obese, you lordship."

"Are you seriously telling me Potter has become too large for a squad of wizards to get him out of his room? It's got to be a trick, an illusion of some kind."

"I am afraid not, my Lord. We suffered several casualties when we managed to force our way into the room only to have Potter accidentally roll over onto us."

"He crushed them?"

"Yes, although there is some doubt about one of your followers as he may have escaped into one of the folds of flab near Potters arm."

"Won't last long in there I suspect."

"No, my lord."

"I see. Well I guess I will have to take care of this myself, won't I? Reducto!"

Instantly, Harry's window and most of the wall on either side of it disappeared in a loud explosion, which although it covered all of the Death Eaters on the lawn in debris, still did not attract the attention of the nearby Muggles.

"Holy Shit!" cried the Dark Lord as one of Harry's enormous buttocks broke free of the remaining debris and sagged out of the newly created hole. "His arse looks like the head of a giant octopus! What the fuck has he been eating?"

"Pudding, my lord," said Lucius. "A great deal of pudding."

"Pudding? What did he do, pipe it directly into his stomach?"

"He conjured it from his wand, like a Muggle fire hose. Dolohov interrupted him and nearly drowned in the backflow."

"Conjure food? You cannot simply conjure food out of thin air, you idiot. Surely even you know food is the first of the five Principal Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."

"Indeed, I do," said Lucius, nodding. "Unfortunately, nobody thought to inform Potter of this fact."

"Interesting," said Voldemort thoughtfully. "There is something unusual about the speed the boy has gained weight. Maybe his conjured food has properties beyond mere sustenance."

"The pudding's great," added Bella, her mouth covered in what Voldemort sincerely hoped was indeed chocolate pudding.

"Apparently once he discovered how to conjure food, he has been consoling himself over the loss of his godfather by eating non-stop, judging by his size. We have tried removing sections of the wall, to make the doorway bigger, but he doesn't fit down the stairwell either. All attempts at shrinking him are getting nowhere too. I think his body mass is too large for the magic to work properly. Even Bella's Crucio doesn't seem to be able to penetrate his covering layer of lard, my lord."

Voldemort was cradling his head in his hands.

"What the hell does the old Muggle-loving fool think he is doing, letting the boy binge himself? Was he trying to kill him?

"Lucius, are you telling me that my loyal followers, the most feared and dangerous magical people in the world, are incapable of getting Harry Potter out of his house because the boy is too fat?"

Lucius tried to muster as much dignity as he could. "Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort shook his head and rose from the throne.

An old lady walked her dog passed, completely ignoring the chaos happening at number four.

"At least the old fool knows how to cast a good Muggle repellent," mumbled Lucius as he dusted the remains of Potter's bedroom wall off his ruined robes.

With another graceful wave of his wand, the Dark Lord levitated the huge lump of flesh off the crushed frame of the bed and began moving it out of the newly created hole. It took a fair bit of jiggling and manoeuvring, since the thing in the room seemed to be unfolding as it was given more space, but eventually the whole mass cleared the wall.

Harry Potter's enormous face and head was the last thing to leave the room, his mouth chewing constantly as his hands fed food from a large bag into his maw as fast as they could while his eyes darted about nervously.

Voldemort's wand began wobbling as the strain of holding up such an enormous load took its toll.

Lucius gasped as realised his master was about to lose control, and Harry, still munching away on the gallon sized chocolate mud cake he had conjured moments before, was positioned directly overhead.

He only had a split second to realise his death was approaching before the truly huge Harry Potter landed on both him, and his master, ending the second war in most inglorious style.

"Oooohh," groaned Harry, clutching his stomach. "I think I overdid it with the mud-cake."